


Apple

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-07
Updated: 2002-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 10:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/355840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming of age as a Krypton exile in Kansas.  Pre-first-time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apple

## Apple

by Falada

[]()

* * *

**APPLE**

"I'm going into town for a while, Mom." 

"Your father doesn't need you?" 

"He's got Emilio helping him. He said I could have the day off." 

"All right, but remember sunset's earlier now. I don't want you riding out on the highway after dark." 

"Okay," he says. She wants to ask him what he's going to do in town, but they're trying hard to let him have more freedom, so she won't; and he figures it's better to never volunteer than to tell them, sometimes, and not tell them, others. He'll stop by The Beanery on his way home; tonight he'll say something about having been there. That way it'll be a little bit honest. Even if he is really going to Lex's now. 

They don't like his friendship with Lex. Dad in particular is resistant, though he tries to be fair and keep his hostility to Lex's father out of it. Lex is a little older, and rich, and no one would mistake him for somebody who grew up in Smallville; he's just too different. Oh hell, thinks Clark, who rarely swears even to himself. That's not really it. Mainly, it's because they worry about sex. He's understood that from the git-go, though it took him a while to say it to himself; and of course from their point of view, they're right, except it's not something they should worry _about_. 

All he can do is keep alluding, offhandish, to things like Lex really liking Chloe in a nice way and promising to help her get a summer job, or Lex buying new computers for the school, or letting Nell Potter use the PE for Lana's birthday, or mentioning girls he knows in places like London and Sao Paulo. Stuff like that. So Dad will be reassured that Lex isn't paying special attention to him, or just to boys. That he isn't a Beautiful Stranger. 

He'd pretty much forgotten the Beautiful Stranger business until this fall. It happened when he was a little kid, not even in first grade. Slipped away from his folks one night at the county fair to hightail it over to the carnival midway, a dazzle of lights, and music from the merry-go-round, and shrieks from the loop-a-loop. They found him on tiptoe with his arms reaching skyward to the ferris wheel ("You looked like you just wanted to jump up and grab it," Mom told him, long afterward.) They must have been relieved, because he didn't remember much of a scolding, but the next day he got a finger-waggling lecture about strangers: never speak to a stranger, never accept anything from a stranger, never, never _ever_ go anywhere with a stranger. 

Strangers aren't common in Smallville. Maybe he invented his own, but he thinks not. Now that his memory's been jogged, he can see the scene again. It happened more than once: a top-down red convertible would swing off the highway and up the lane to their house, braking in a spray of gravel. The driver, who was dazzling, with silver-pale hair and golden skin, held a double-dip chocolate ice-cream cone. Clark recognized him: one of the Uncles. Uncle wasn't the right word, but even then the right word was just out of reach, and it's receded even farther by now. It's like a shadow of a memory, along with others that go back before the meteors, before the day he found his mother and father. 

Each time, the Stranger would open the car door and tell Clark, "Here, take this before it melts, and get in." He was not one bit scary, and Clark yearned to run to him and grab the cone and climb in his lap and ride away in the convertible. But his mother had said he mustn't. So each time Clark, obedient, spun round and scampered for the house. 

Great-grandma Mainwaring was still alive, and sometimes she'd play a song called "Beautiful Dreamer" on her old upright piano, and maybe this was what made him think: Beautiful Stranger. 

He believed totally in the Stranger back then, but he's never said a word about him. He has no idea what would have happened if he got in the car, if there was a car, and a stranger. He's accustomed to mysteries. 

Anyhow, the fantasy, if it was one, faded when he started school, and it's resurfaced only because Clark's dreams about sex have taken a new turn. Until lately, make-out dreams were a little vague, but he thinks they were always about girls, mostly Lana. The new ones, though, are peopled with guys, and they are vivid. He doesn't think he ever dreamed in color before. The Stranger is often in them, still beautiful and benevolent, but now he's sexy, come back with holding and kissing and murmured words for Clark, but Clark can never quite remember what he says. There's only one other face Clark recognizes, a real person. 

So now when he masturbates, he pretends Lex Luthor is there. Lex, who doesn't look even remotely like his Stranger, who in fact is not really beautiful, except that he is. In any case it doesn't matter, because Clark knows Lex has been chosen for him, whether or not Lex is aware of it. Probably he isn't, but he almost certainly wants Clark just the same, or at least Clark desperately hopes so. He clings to that belief, because next to Lex he feels like some big lubberly dog, Dr. Mackie's Newfoundland, maybe, in company with a greyhound, and though sometimes he's all calm and rational about the inevitability of Lex and him, a minute later he'll be in a daze of yearning, hardly able to hope Lex would have him. Maybe he's feeling just like everybody else when they fall in love. 

Last week, for the first time ever, he studied himself in the long mirror on the bathroom door. He felt like a fool for doing it and a little guilty for the vanity of concluding he's not half bad. But that makes it easier to believe that the looks Lex gives him sometimes mean what he needs them to. 

In theory, he should be upset by this homosexual stuff. Nobody at home has ever gone out of their way to make an issue of it, but he understands there's a good reason for having two sexes specifically engineered for each other and, like his dad would say, you don't need to fix what ain't broke. At school, of course, kids use a bunch of words he's known since he was a fifth-grader, names you don't want to be called. It's a good thing there aren't any queers at Smallville High because they'd have a pretty rough time. But for him there's no issue; he's just finally caught on to how he's supposed to be. The dreams are showing him how to grow up. 

The only problem he sees is that now he's stuck with another major secret, one he'll have to keep from Jonathan and Martha. They aren't ready to deal with his having sex at all, let alone with a man. Especially Lex. 

People seem to think you learn all about sex on a farm, like you've got animals doing it all over the place. Well, the Kents feed a few beef cattle, but they buy them as calves. Unless you count the rooster that was around the year mom tried raising chickens and selling eggs, the most action he ever sees is when a couple of dogs put on an unscheduled half-time show at one of the Crows' games. 

When he and Chloe were ten or so, they had a conversation about French kissing, because some of the kids were giggling about it on the playground. "In your mouth?" he asked skeptically. 

"Donna Marie swears that's true," she assured him. "Personally, I can't see the fun in it." 

"Me neither," he agreed. They looked at each other. "Should we try it?" he suggested. 

Chloe nodded. She put her hands awkwardly on his shoulders and they leant toward each other, sticking their tongues out. "Wait a minute," she said, "This can't be right. Don't you suppose you have to take turns? So it's just one tongue at a time?" He agreed. 

"Maybe," Chloe offered after they'd had a fair go at it and were sitting there feeling dumb, "it's different when you're older." 

"Maybe," Clark agreed doubtfully. 

Then three or four years ago, he and Pete and Chloe settled in her room to learn about sex from the net. They made a good start, but Chloe, who isn't easily embarrassed, eventually turned pink and said, "Ok, you guys are on your own," and disappeared. 

Then Pete, who was still halfway a little kid, actually got bored and drifted off to play video games with Chloe in the living room. Which left Clark in command of the computer but he wasn't in his own home and one of them might wander back in at any minute, and at the time he had nowhere near the control over his hydraulic system he has now. Given the potential for embarrassment, he abandoned the search and joined them. 

At home he can use the computer in the kitchen. Jonathan bought it for his use as well as for their business records and checking corn and soybean futures and following developments in organic farming. Unfortunately Clark isn't sure how to totally erase tracks that don't gibe with research for Smallville High's notion of social studies, and he suspects that his mom snoops from time to time, which he can sort of understand even though he resents it. 

What's really ridiculous is that since he hasn't ever actually dated he doesn't even have experience in the preliminaries, just kissing and touching somebody. He will simply have to trust to Lex, and luck, and his own inclinations. At lease he'll be able to avoid one potential problem; anyway he hopes so. One afternoon a few years ago, when he was alone in the house, he had a scare. Jacking off was a glorious new discovery, and he didn't notice he'd set the bed in motion. It started picking up speed as it lumbered across the floor and it was only about a foot from smashing through the wall and into the side yard when his brain reactivated and he managed to get it stopped. After that, he taught himself to be just alert enough to prevent accidents. That should also keep him from accidentally hurting Lex; he's sure practiced plenty. 

That was about the same time his mother figured out what was going on. She gave him a hug and a booklet recommended by their pastor, and put an extra-large box of Kleenex on his dresser. A day or two later, Dad had a talk with him (actually, Dad fumbled through an awkward and profoundly embarrassing speech), mostly to point out that it might take a few years before he was mature enough to control his special strength and while this might seem like a burden when his friends started going out with girls and he wasn't able to, waiting longer would prove to be a blessing in the long haul and anyhow blah blah blah. And blah again, Clark thought rebelliously.. But Jonathan finally ended this painful recital and added, with a small grin, "Sometimes, you know, a boy's best friend is his good right hand," so they were okay with each other. 

By now, though, he figures he is the only fifteen-year-old male virgin in Lowell County. 

Going out through the enclosed back porch, he selects seven (not too many, not too few) of the nicest apples from the boxful he picked earlier. A new, late variety is bearing for the first time this fall, smallish fruit with some tang but mostly sweet, nice for eating out-of-hand, and very pretty: a tawny, rose-brushed gold. He polishes them on his sweatshirt and puts them into one of the paper sacks his mother stashes out here, and stows it in his bike's saddlebag. They won't be exactly a pretext for showing up uninvited; he's pretty sure he doesn't need that anyhow. It's just that he likes the idea of taking along a present, and there isn't too much a kid like him can give Lex. Except, and he grins at his optimistic thought, except a kid like him? 

If only he dared just go on foot across the fields, skirting the edge of town. He loves doing that, not driven by the adrenaline rush of some emergency, but simply striding along so each easy thrust from the ball of his foot sends him skimming over the surface. His lengths are better all the time, as much as eight feet to a step now, and he may be getting the hang of changing direction a bit when he's off the ground. He hasn't told his folks about this latest development either. Not for any special reason; just on general principles. 

But it's hard to find times and places to practice unobserved in the daytime, especially with no corn still standing; and on a Saturday kids will be all over the place, so he's stuck with using the ten-speed he got last year at the flea market. This is a fine crisp blue-sky day, and when traffic is light, he can fit in some spurts of super-fast pedaling. He'll have to be a careful, though; the old bike will take only so much. Seems like he has to waste an awful lot time working out compromises between his body and the rest of the world. 

Lex's house is on the far side of Smallville, a massive stone affair that looks as woefully out-of-place as it really is. It was a manor in Scotland before Lex's father had it knocked down, transported, and reassembled in Kansas like some big old toy. Most people call it Luthor's Castle, or just the Castle, but Chloe once proclaimed it a preposterous edifice, and that name has stuck among a few of them; it's the PE. Sometime he'll tell Lex that; it'll make him laugh. 

He makes good time. It's only a mile into Smallville, less than that through town, and another mile to Lex's. Willis Gardiner's tractor and the string of cars creeping behind it are no impediment; he just takes the shoulder to get around them all. 

Lex's new Range Rover is in the PE's front drive, with Edna Gutenacht's old Taurus next to it. Ed and Edna are only in their seventies, and after they turned the farm over to one of the boys and moved into town they were fretting for ways to fill their time. Lex owns the little house they rent, and when he inquired, they jumped at the chance to do for him at the Castle, just part-time cleaning and some cooking and yardwork so he doesn't need another live-in. They also defend him stoutly against bad-mouthers. 

Unfortunately, Edna's coming out the front door as he leans the bike against a stone pillar, and his folks are sure to learn he's been out here again. Well, he'll have to deal with that when the time comes. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Gutenacht," he says. 

She peers at him. "Oh, Clark Kent. My goodness, you're still growing? I'll bet the girls are lining up on _your_ doorstep." 

Lex appears in the doorway behind her, holding his keys. He's lived in Smallville long enough to appreciate the communications network. "Ah, Clark," he says. "I forgot to look for that book. Come in for a minute while I check the library." To Mrs. Gutenacht he adds, "Edna, you just call me, now, if you don't like any of the vinyl at Padrow's. We've got to get that kitchen right for you." 

Clever Lex. Edna won't notice the "what book?" look on Clark's face. He must remember to take one home with him. 

He really dislikes deceiving his parents, but sometimes they make it necessary. 

They pause on the steps while Edna settles in the Ford, fusses with her seatbelt, and rolls down the window to say, "Now remember, Lex, you set the microwave on low to thaw those suppers, and there's a fresh jar of bread-and-butter pickles in the icebox for you, and you make Clark eat a piece of that pie before you send him home." 

As they wave her off, Clark asks, "Were you leaving?" 

"I was. Now I'm not." 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll go. I don't want to delay you." 

Lex lifts an eyebrow, and Clark is a little ashamed for being hypocritical. He does too want to delay Lex, and he knows Lex wants to be delayed. As they turn to go into the house, Clark bumps against him, just to be touching. 

And then he remembers the apples. "Oh, wait a minute." Goes back to the bike, retrieves the sack from the saddlebag. 

"What's that?" 

"Just some apples. In case Mrs. Gutenacht didn't leave you enough to eat." 

Stopping in the hallway, Lex takes the sack from him and pulls out an apple; inspects it critically; holds it against Clark's cheek. "Nice blush," he says. Clark feels himself produce a blush of his own, something he can't quite control yet. Anyway, that nets a mischievous smile from Lex before he bites, chews thoughtfully. "Good, very good." He holds the apple out again, this time to Clark's mouth, and watches him take a bite. 

Lex is in full flirt mode. At the beginning, Clark didn't even realize he was being flirted with; he hadn't known men ever did that with each other. It wasn't as if he got much attention from girls, even. To look at a guy so intently? And sneak a glance to his crotch sometimes because you want to know if he's showing any reaction the way you're afraid you are? And look back up again and share little almost-smiles? He took courage from the dreams, and began to play that game, and it turned out to be fun in a walking-a-tightrope way. Except that it's not enough any more. Nowhere near enough. 

But Lex has taken his attention from Clark to focus on the apple. "What's the variety?" 

Sheepish, Clark has to shrug; he works in the orchard, but doesn't keep track of which tree's which. It's not like he's going to be taking over the farm - a fact always makes him a little sad, but he knows his folks have come to terms with it, even though it's never been discussed. 

"Find out; it's the best local apple I've had." Lex is all business now. 

Around some chewed-up fruit he hasn't had a chance to swallow, Clark says, "Okay. And how long before they start to bear, and how well they store, and whether we've had any problem using just natural pesticides. Anything else?" 

Lex gives him a mock-glare. "Smart-ass punk," he mutters. He stands there, unselfconsciously eating, eyes downcast to concentrate on the flavor, while Clark, hands hanging at his sides, grins from the pleasure of watching. But watching makes the familiar sensation start up near Clark's collarbone and plunge hotly down him and he remembers that he's got to be cool and not mess things up now. 

Lex holds the apple out to him again. There's only a little left, and this time Clark's lip brushes Lex's knuckle, or maybe it's the other way around. He knows Lex is as much aware of that touch as he is, because there's an instant of stillness between them before Lex rotates the core to give Clark another bite, and then takes it back to nibble off the last edible bit. His mouth where mine just was, Clark thinks, almost dreamily. In a few minutes I'm going to be touching that quirked upper lip. First with my forefinger, then with my tongue. 

"Very nice, Clark. Thank you for bringing them. Give me a minute to put these away, and we'll see if your bike will fit in the car. I'll give you a lift as far as town." 

Oh, hell. What does Lex think he's doing? "No," Clark says. 

Lex, already half-turned to start down the hallway, says, "No, what?" 

"No, we've got to stay here. You were going to. You can't change your mind now. Please, it's time we - we can't keep - you keep backing off - Lex, it's time." 

"Clark, what in god's name are you babbling about?" 

Even if he were free to explain the situation to Lex, he doesn't really understand it himself. The best he can do is be honest as he dares. "It's not just because I - it's not just about the way I feel about you. I mean, well, yeah, but it's, it's more than that, it's something I _need_ , too. Listen: that day? On the bridge? I was standing there thinking there's no place I belonged in all the world, and then you came along, and, and we got out of the river okay, and I - I felt better about things. Everything." 

Lex still isn't looking at him; seems on the verge of walking away. "Lex, you wouldn't mind, would you? I know you wouldn't. It's what you want. I know it is. So please." 

Lex swings back to face him. He's on the verge of pretending not to understand; Clark can read that on his face. And then he concedes, with a sort of wry smile. "You let me decide what I do or don't want. I'll tell you this: I don't want any more legal problems. Simmer down, Clark, you'll be just fine." 

"Don't treat me like you're my father. Wearing suits to work and running a chemical plant doesn't make you any older than some of the guys who drag-race on River Road Saturday nights. They're the same age as you and they're still kids. You make it sound like you'd be some old pervert, if we... Legal age doesn't have anything to do with it anyhow. You know I'm not just a kid, don't you? Yeah, you do. And if you think I'd ever hurt you in any way: Lex, I wouldn't, I would not, not ever. I'll be so careful with you." 

Lex looks quizzical. "Careful with me," he repeats. "Clark, I know you're not going to blackmail me or anything ridiculous like that. You keep getting between me and the angel of death; of course I trust you. The rest of the world is something else. Look, I'm having a rare fit of righteousness and you aren't helping one bit. I let this go too far, out of sheer self-indulgence. You think I'm glamorous, with the cars, and this place, and not fitting in here, but that's only because you're a misfit yourself. I realize that. But you don't know me at all, you haven't the foggiest notion of who I am. Clark, you're just a virgin with a crush like the world's worst itch, oh yes, I've been there." His words are fast and angry now. "You don't even know quite what you think you want." 

"Yes, I do." 

"Say it." 

"To love you." 

"Oh, well then: feel free, my dear. I'm always happy to extend my fan base." 

"Okay, to make love. To, to have sex. To kiss you, to touch you." He takes a deep breath and, so scared by what he's saying that it comes out like a question, gasps, "To suck your cock?" 

"Jesus Christ, Clark," says Lex, looking startled. 

"Well," says Clark. Two steps, and he could close the space vibrating between them. 

"Just stay where you are. I still want to put your apples in what Edna calls the icebox." 

He wheels and goes briskly down the long dim hall toward the kitchens, heels clicking on the polished wood floor. "Still want," he said. As though they'll stay here. 

He's got a kind of swagger, a cocky walk. Oh, Clark realizes, _that's_ what "cocky" means. Which sets him to thinking about what Lex will feel like in his hand, will he be cool and smooth and heavy? Or already hard and moving willfully? The heat of him...And in my mouth? Cocksucker, that is what I'm about to be. Lex, hurry. 

Lex is returning now, moving more slowly the closer he gets. He doesn't look happy, or even amused. He looks tense, alert. Stopping in front of Clark, he stares at him. "Second thoughts?" 

Clark can't keep a doofus grin from taking over his face. "No," he says firmly. 

Lex's face is unreadable for a moment. He draws a shaky breath and nods, begins to smile in return. He starts a gesture, low, as though he's going to put his hand on Clark's crotch, and Clark almost moves forward to meet it. But Lex does something bolder, and sweeter: he takes Clark's hand. "Come on, then," he says. 

His grip is firm, though the bones underneath feel fragile. Still, Clark knows that Lex, who's been chosen to teach him, is agile and as tough as a boiled owl, and he knows, too, that the way this works - whatever "this" is - he isn't going to hurt Lex. 

At the foot of the stairs, he realizes something else: in his exuberance of joy and desire he can simply wrap an arm around Lex and take them airborne up into whatever bed Lex has in mind. Once before, at the river, he flew with Lex from fear; now he could do it for happiness. But they don't need that. Maybe someday he'll be able to fly whenever he wants to and he'll take the two of them all over the world. For now, he doesn't want to think about unearthly powers. He's simply Clark Kent of Smallville Township, Lowell County, Kansas, and he's holding the hand of his first and only lover, Lex Luthor, as they run lightly up the broad curving staircase. 

* * *


End file.
